Of Myths and Goddesses
by the Barn
Summary: Severus Snape suffered a breakdown because of one Hermione Granger. What happens when she suddenly re-enters his life eight years later?
1. Hate a Prologue

Author's Notes: I'm not really sure what made me start this story. I've been reading a lot of SS/HG fics lately, and I guess this just popped out. If any of you like it enough for me to continue, or if you have any suggestions, please let me know through review or email. It will be greatly appreciated. And I apologize for any stream-of-consciousness or jumps in this chapter... this is un-betaed, and I honestly haven't even re-read it myself. Forgive any mistakes.  
  
Disclaimer: The characters of this story are the intellectual property of the great author J. K. Rowling. I am merely borrowing their personalities for a bit of fun.  
  
Frustrated Author's Note: Because my laptop is being really horrid right now, I'm afraid that the asteriks * will denote italics. Hopefully this will be temporary.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Hate.  
  
Hate was one of the emotions that coursed through his blood whenever he thought of Hermione Granger. Pure, unadulterated loathing for the Gryffindor Know-it-All, who dared to surpass his *years* of training and studying and laboring in the first two years she had been involved with the wizarding world. Scorn for the mere slip of a girl who managed to pilfer ingredients from *his* supplies, so that she might engage in illicit brewing in a bathroom. And then, after all that, she managed to bungle the last step and transform into a human Mrs. Norris. It was an insult, to say the least.  
  
Although, if he were honest with himself, the hate was sandwiched between a tiny bit of envy and an even smaller dose of pride.   
  
After all, he was sure it was *he* who had taught her proper brewing techniques. It was *his* motions that she'd observed and copied.   
  
But it was simply 12-year-old Hermione Granger and her superior intellect that managed, in one attempt, to make the potion that had nearly bungled his first year of apprenticeship. And for that, he could hate.  
  
He marveled along with the rest of his colleagues how a Muggleborn with no prior knowledge of their world's existence could suddenly show up even the purest of those bred to achieve.  
  
He snubbed her whenever he could, ignoring her in class when he wasn't making snide remarks about her House, her brain, her teeth. But there were times, when all heads were bent over an in-class writing assignment, he'd observe her. Her slim fingers wrapped around the finest of quills, flying across the parchment, her face plainly stating that she knew what she was writing about. Sometimes, when her eyes lit up with excitement over whatever the subject of the text, he would almost let his mind smile; appreciation for higher knowledge was rare inside the Potions classroom. But then he would remember her name or her House, and the spell would be broken.  
  
However, over the years, he watched his students grow up. It wasn't that he particularly watched *her*, but he couldn't help noticing how cooperative she'd become in class. She learned to adjust to his various moods and knew how to pacify his ire when it was directed at her; when he realized this, he'd become furious with himself after the fact. Children were not supposed to escape his sarcasm or his anger unscathed. But then he made another realization: she wasn't a child anymore. Her peers, Gryffindor or Slytherin or any of the other two, certainly hadn't matured. But none of them observed the world around them. Or, if they did, they certainly didn't know how to handle what they saw. But this girl handled the people surrounding her with more grace than he would have credited to a Gryffindor.  
  
That irritated him, and one day he snapped. She'd tried to pacify him yet again, but her attempt had only fanned his fury. He ranted and raved as he hadn't in years, berating and insulting her until all the Gryffindor males had jumped to their feet and all the Slytherins had stopped grinning. He swooped over to her table, glared and sneered and jeered until she turned as red as a Weasley. His mind was frantic, trying to say anything that would break her, revert her back to the crying, friendless child she had once been.   
  
All the while, she continued to meet his angry gaze. He could see tears forming, but no matter the words that came from his mouth, they never fell. Finally, in the middle of his tirade, she stood and calmly walked out the classroom.  
  
She never did come back.  
  
Albus censured him and relegated him to an unofficial sabbatical. His classes were temporarily shared between Madam Pomfrey and Professor Sinistra, both of whom had a sufficient background in Potions.  
  
He'd been sent to Beauxbatons as a visiting scholar, where he observed and guested in Potions and Defense classes. During the beginning of his "vacation," he'd been murderous in his thoughts to Miss Granger. He imagined all sorts of gossip flying around about him: *He's gone mad, can't handle the pressure of a student more intelligent than he is... A Potions Master, bested by a teenage girl!... The poor girl, putting up with abuse like that.*  
  
Then he became tired. Maybe Albus was right, maybe he needed a break from the pressures and the confines of Hogwarts. Maybe his dislike for Miss Granger was only the result of a stifled life, surrounded by idiots.  
  
Finally, he relaxed and rejuvenated. He'd been in France for six months; during his absence, Voldemort was finally killed off, the Ministry had purged itself of many corrupt officials, Longbottom passed Potions, and the whole infernal class graduated. When he returned for the next term, he was noticeably more pleasant, except for those instances that the graduated class was mentioned.  
  
*He's not as snarky now... It really must have been Potter, Granger, and Longbottom that made him so nasty.* The student body learned not to mention the second of those names around their Potions Master, until finally the years had gone by so that none of them had been at school with that girl.  
  
It was eight years before he was again forced to acknowledge the existence of Hermione Granger. And that was only when she waltzed right into his classroom.  
  
~*~*~*~ 


	2. Fear

Author's Notes: Thanks to my first and second reviewers, Nimrowdel and Mel. To my third, Idamae- it's an honor to have been encouraged to continue by a great writer such as yourself (can you tell I'm a fan?).   
  
I still haven't found a way to sneak italics into this story... maybe when I find an actual computer, as opposed to a laptop. Thus, triple asteriks *** will denote a memory or flashback.  
  
Again, this chapter is un-betaed and only semi-re-read. I apologize for any mistakes. Also, if anyone has any plot ideas, encouragement, details, etc., they will be recognized and credited.  
  
As always, reviews are appreciated!  
  
Disclaimer: See the first chapter.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Fear.  
  
Fear threatened to overtake Hermione Granger as she stood just outside her former Potions classroom. It had been well over eight years since she'd seen the inside- eight years since she'd faced the man whose voice still haunted her frailest dreams. She shook herself; there had been an entire lifetime in those eight years, and one ten-minute incident so long ago was not going to daunt her now. She'd come back and greeted every one of her former professors. She'd taken every hand and met every eye... except for his.  
  
She wasn't a child any longer, hadn't been a student of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for almost a decade. Her respect for former professors was still in place, but the fear that often accompanied should have left her the moment she graduated. And it did, mostly, but she hadn't any closure from the most feared of all her teachers. He wasn't present when she graduated and crossed the barrier from student to adult; he wasn't there for her to confront and demand why he'd been so horrible to *her* of all people...  
  
And now that she finally had that opportunity, the first inklings of doubt were creeping up her spine. Did she really want to know his answer? Was she prepared to face another outburst from the man she'd apparently driven to breakdown?  
  
She sighed and told herself that she was being perfectly silly, that *of course* Professor Snape had gotten over whatever it was he had in the first place. Maybe he'd even thank her for his little excursion to the French Riviera following his stay at Beauxbatons...  
  
Alright, probably not. *Definitely* not.  
  
"For goodness' sake," she whispered to herself, "just knock on the door!" But she didn't knock. To her unconscious horror and amazement, she watched her hand reach for the doorknob and twist.  
  
Well, that settled that. The door was open, and there was no use lurking in doorways. So she walked right in.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
It was brighter than she remembered. Smelled fresher, too.  
  
Hermione blinked, then looked around for the professor. He was at his desk, looking at her as though she were a ghost. Er, maybe not. He looked surprised, at least.  
  
"Professor Snape!" she cried, resisting the urge to flinch at the just-a-bit-too-cheery pitch her voice had taken. "How have you been? Has it really been eight years?"  
  
It was his turn to blink, then stare for a moment. "Miss Granger," he veritably hissed, "I would have assumed that somewhere during your developing years, someone would have taught you the most basic of manners. Do you always go around barging into closed rooms, shrieking inane questions at those you may find within?"  
  
Her answer came from that cheeky little place called The First Thing That Came to Mind. "Of course." She paused. "Do forgive my intrusion, Professor, just chalk it up to the blatant stupidity of the moment. I can see that I've upset you, so I shall barge in properly another time."  
  
She didn't stop to see how her response registered on the professor's face, but she would have undoubtedly thought it was worthy of a Muggle camera, a Kodak moment frozen in time. Instead, she turned around and walked right out, pulling the door closed behind her. She kept walking until she was out of that corridor and didn't stop until she collapsed on the nearest bench.  
  
"That went well," she said to nothing in particular.  
  
"What did?" a voice asked behind her.  
  
Hermione jumped a bit and turned to see Nearly Headless Nick floating in her direction. "Nick!" she cried. "I'd hug you if I could. How have you been?"  
  
"Oh quite well, quite well," came the ghostly reply. "I'm 'Head' [if you'll pardon the expression] of the *Nearly* Headless Hunt. Apparently there are quite a few other cases of Decapitation Gone Wrong who were also consistently denied to that exclusively biased Other Hunt, as we like the call it, so we formed our own little monthly jaunts."  
  
Hermione smiled and replied, "That's excellent, Nick. I'm so glad things worked out for you."  
  
The ghost grinned, "Y'know, so am I. But how about you, Miss Granger? Something went well?"  
  
Hermione's smile faltered. "Oh, erm... Do you remember that little incident, about eight years ago, involving Professor Snape and myself?"  
  
"Yes, of course, one doesn't forget events called 'Snape's Sensational Smashup.'"  
  
"Er... right. Anyway, I just saw Professor Snape a few moments ago, for the first time since the 'smashup.' I do think I went about it the wrong way. Terribly rude of me to walk right in, you know."  
  
Nearly Headless Nick look faintly amused. "It's not as though he can take housepoints away from you, Miss Granger. No more detentions."  
  
She smiled again. "I suppose you're right." After that, the two exchanged a few more pleasantries and idle chitchat until Hermione begged his leave to meet with the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
She entered the Dining Hall, the smaller room used by the remaining Hogwarts staff over summer holidays. As Professor McGonagall waved her over to the adjacent chair, Hermione noticed that all were present with the notable exception of the Dungeon Lurker. She laughed and joked with the rest of the table, enjoying good food and good company simultaneously.  
  
When dinner ended and everyone began retiring to their quarters, Hermione approached Professor McGonagall one more time.  
  
"Minerva, I want to thank you for making me feel welcome again without making me feel like a student. I do appreciate it, as I expect to be here for quite a while."  
  
The elder witch smiled and patted Hermione hand before bidding her a good night.  
  
Hermione didn't go straight to her rooms, which were in the Gryffindor wing, choosing instead to take a walk around the grounds that had been her home for seven years. She saw a light twinkling in Hagrid's hut, but decided against disturbing the friendly half-giant in favor of solitude. She kept walking until she reached the Quidditch pitch, smiling as she recalled various moments that involved both Harry and Ron zooming around the airfield. She made up her mind to go in after stopping by the Greenhouses. She peeked in one of the windows and identified all the plants she could see. She felt quite content until she spotted some Mandrakes. Seeing them reminded her of the disaster she'd made out of a perfectly good Polyjuice Potion during her second year, and then her thoughts turned from Polyjuice to Professor Snape.  
  
*** It had been an ordinary day, as far as she knew. She'd had breakfast before returning library books, then straight to Potions with Harry and Ron. They'd been studying something simple that day, she couldn't even remember what it was now. Professor Snape had asked Parvati a question about the lesson, and when she'd gotten the answer right, Hermione smiled. She wasn't smiling about Parvati or the question or anything in particular, but He had seen it.  
  
'Miss Granger!' he'd snapped. 'Wipe that asinine look off your face this instant. Potions are not amusing.' ***  
  
Hermione blinked, then yawned. 'No use thinking about it now. Face him in the morning.' She turned to go, but heard a noise coming from the greenhouse. She peered in through the window again and saw a dark shadow moving in the opposite corner. She made a little noise, maybe a gasp?, and the shadow stood straight up.   
  
As it turned in her direction, she fled back to the castle.  
  
*~*~*~* 


End file.
